Throughout coverage of the 1999 U.S. Open, Paul Jett, CGCS, was a vital source of information for members of the media. However, Pinehurst No. 2's superintendent did not reveal his own story -- a struggle with testicular cancer -- to the press.

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1999 was going to be an unforgettable year. All of the long hours and hard work of the past four years would be on display as the world watched the 99th U.S. Open unfold from Pinehurst No. 2 in Pinehurst, N.C. Preparing the course and its talented maintenance staff for that event would have been plenty to keep me busy. But I guess God felt that not only my skills as a superintendent needed to be tested, but also my faith. Little did I know what challenges lay ahead.

In late 1998 I noticed that my left testicle was greatly enlarged. There was no pain or discomfort, and frankly, I did not think much about it. After the 1999 conference and show in Orlando, the swelling seemed to have increased. Although there was still no pain, the swelling was making it increasingly more difficult to cross my legs. I still had no idea that there was anything seriously wrong, but thought it was time to have it checked out.

On March 12, 1999, I went to see Dr. Bernard Stanfield, a urologist at Moore Regional Hospital in Pinehurst. During my examination, Dr. Stanfield thought that the lump was nothing but fluid, but he sent me across the street for an ultrasound so that an accurate diagnosis could be made. As I went to the office for the ultrasound, I recall being relieved that this was nothing serious, and a couple of weeks of medication would be all that was required. After all, I was getting No. 2 ready for the U.S. Open; I didn't have time to deal with anything else.

After the ultrasound, I returned to Dr. Stanfield's office, and his mood was much more serious and somber. He asked me into his office, closed the door and after we both sat down, he said, "Paul, the ultrasound showed a large solid mass around your left testicle. You have testicular cancer." The words in those two sentences are ones that I will never forget.

At the moment he said the word "cancer," a million thoughts ran through my head all at once. I remember thinking that I was too healthy for this to happen, people die from cancer, and how could the timing be any worse. As Dr. Stanfield and I talked about the disease and its treatment, my first question was "Can this wait until after the Open?" His response was a chuckle and "no." Although testicular cancer is very curable, it is not something to mess around with.

Despite his health concerns and 17 radiation treatments, Jett continued to oversee maintenance leading up to and throughout the Open.

Options and risk
Testicular cancer is a young man's disease. Men 18-35 are most at risk. If there is an upside to having the cancer, it has a 98 percent cure rate. Scott Hamilton, the Olympic figure skating star, had testicular cancer. Lance Armstrong won back-to-back Tour de France bicycle races after recovering from testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain before it was detected. My treatment options were simple. Immediate surgery to remove the cancer and then 17 low-grade radiation treatments to the stomach and chest area to kill any cells that may have escaped the surgery and moved to other parts of my body.

Before I left Dr. Stanfield's office, appointments were made for the following Monday, March 15, at Moore Regional Hospital to do blood work and fill out the paperwork for admission to the hospital. Surgery was scheduled for the next day. For Dr. Stanfield, I was probably an exciting case. In a town populated mostly by retirees, he is "lucky" to see this type of cancer once every three to four years. At least it was exciting to someone.

The drive from the doctor's office to my home was not nearly long enough. All I wanted that evening was to be left alone to deal with this problem the same way that I deal with any other problem -- alone. I sat in my rocking chair with a million thoughts running through my head. Was I going to be OK? How long would I be away from work? How is this going to affect preparations for the Open? After I had time to sit and think about everything the doctor had said, I was less and less concerned about whether this could be fatal. The cancer was still in its early stages, and the cure rate is 98 percent. What really bothered me was being away from the course.

A healthy Jett takes a swing during the 2000 GCSAA Golf Championship in Mobile, Ala., less than a year after his cancer diagnosis. Jett was the runner-up in the Championship, but only after a nighttime two-hole playoff against winner Todd Barker, CGCS.

The U.S. Open was not only the most important thing in my professional career, but it had become the most important thing in my life. I had become totally consumed by it. It bothered me that I might not achieve the level of excellence that I expected or that others (Pinehurst management and the USGA) expected from me.

Only a few people were made aware of my situation in the beginning. I called my parents, and they were speechless. My dad is a pharmaceutical salesman, and over the weekend he contacted some doctors and was able to get some more information concerning this type of cancer. His efforts made all of us feel better about the possibilities of a complete recovery. I also called Brad Kocher, CGCS, director of golf course maintenance at Pinehurst and a 24-year GCSAA member, and informed him of my situation and that I would need a week off to take care of this. What a way to get a week's vacation!

Private matter, public support
In general, I am a very private person, especially when it comes to personal matters. But as more and more people found out, the support I received was overwhelming. It made the whole ordeal much easier knowing that I had the prayers of so many people and that the golf course would be in good hands. Twenty-year GCSAA member Bob Farren, CGCS, assistant director of golf course maintenance at Pinehurst, oversaw the daily activities during my absence.

On Tuesday, March 16, three months and one day before the first round of the Open, a malignant tumor roughly the size of a tangerine was removed. The procedure only took 30 minutes, but the rest of the day was long and uncomfortable. It took three to four hours for the anesthetic to wear off, and once it did, I was ready to go home. The only problem was that I had to be able to urinate before I could be released. Finally around 4 p.m., I was able to prove I could, and I was released. I spent the rest of the week at home, and by the next Monday, March 22, I was back at work overseeing preparations for the Open.

However, I was not out of the woods yet. The second step in the treatment and recovery process was to complete 17 radiation treatments. Every weekday morning from April 29 to May 21 I went into the radiation therapy unit at the hospital for what amounted to about 30 seconds of radiation treatment. There were no adverse side effects to these treatments except a loss of energy by 3 p.m. following the first two to three treatments.

'Perfect' timing
My last radiation treatment was on Friday, May 21. When that was finished, I felt that my bout with cancer was over. The surgery had been successful, no signs of cancer were showing up in any of the blood tests and now radiation was complete. For the first time in two and a half months I had only one thing to think about: the 1999 U.S. Open. The feeling of relief that day was even greater than the feeling of relief I had after Payne Stewart made a 15-foot putt on the 72nd hole to win the Open and avoid a Monday playoff.

At the time, I thought the timing could not have been worse. Yet, as I look back on it now, my opinion has changed. No one ever wants cancer of any type. It is a horrible disease that many do not recover from. But I think now that the timing may have been a blessing. I believe that many positive things occurred for me. First, it all happened so quickly there was not a lot of time spent worrying about it. Diagnosis to removal was only four days. Second, it made me focus even more on the task at hand: prepping No. 2 for the Open. I didn't think that feeling sorry for myself would do anyone, especially me, any good, so why do it? Finally, I believe that it made me realize that I had to take time to reflect on what had been accomplished. This was not something I had done a lot in the past. My feeling had always been what's done is done. Taking time to enjoy past events only delayed work that needed to get done in the future.

Today, life is pretty much back to normal, both professionally and personally. I visit Dr. Stanfield every three months for an exam, and two vials of blood are drawn so that proteins produced by cancer cells can be monitored. These quarterly visits will continue through mid-2001, and annual visits will continue for many years to come.

Although this illness is over and done with, the thoughts and fears that this could happen again are always in the back of my mind. Any knot, bump or prolonged soreness makes me wonder if there is something to be concerned about. I suppose those thoughts will be with me for a long time to come.

Dealing with preparing a course for the U.S. Open is stressful in itself. Without the love and support of family and friends, I am not sure how I could have dealt with both stresses at once. I'm just glad it is over.

Paul Jett, CGCS, is superintendent of Pinehurst (N.C.) No. 2 and a 14-year GCSAA member.